The Phoenix
by Sulfur Dusk
Summary: AU - Amestris is a country swallowed in chaos. Here, the practice of alchemy is punishable by death. Yet, Colonel Mustang has a difficult time accepting his loyalty to the crown when he meets Edward, a vigilante alchemist. Out of the ashes comes the promise of a revolution, and a forbidden relationship bound by fire and metal. [ Roy x Fem!Ed ]
1. Chapter I

**The** **Phoenix**

\- _A Fullmetal Alchemist Story_ -

* * *

 **I**

The Alleged Criminal

* * *

 **CENTRAL CITY - _Marketplace_**

 **6 : 51 A.M.**

When he hears the news, it's normal. Practically routine, even.

The marketplace in Central is crowded with gloomy people, young and old, tall and short, gravely ill and equally misplaced amongst each other. Footsteps sound across the cobbled streets like the beginning of a stampede. Echoes of starving children, the rustling of paper bills in woolen pockets and the constant sense of dread that stretches across the entire country in a cloak leaves extra for Central.

So it's no surprise to Roy that one of his first missions as Colonel of King Bradley's Military Legion is to root out the latest convicts for murder. A woman, reported to be in her late twenties, early thirties, discovered with her chest brutally torn open by something akin to claws. She was in the early stages of pregnancy, according to the documents slapped onto Roy's desk.

Roy should know the details of an encounter like this _before_ breakfast, but of course the messengers lie about whether or not they can bring him up to date with information on time; he managed to slip on his jacket and polish his boots before being notified of a crucified family in the middle of the marketplace. The same occurred with a butcher, slaughtered like the pigs he sliced open in the middle of his frozen locker. This woman is apparently different, though Roy can hardly tell, not with her blood still fresh on the wooden planks from where her body had fallen.

"It could've been an accident," his trusted bodyguard and confidant, Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, mutters beside him. Her blonde hair is clipped back, high above her neck, her eyes frigid with seriousness, the mahogany depths shining equally with contempt and disgust if the case actually _is_ related to murder. To Roy's lack of surprise, she had brought extra firearms with her, in case he was placed in some unexpected bout of danger that would wind up out of his control.

"Something tells me you doubt that as much as I do," Roy replies with a small smirk. He watches the accompanying officers gather around the body, blinding white camera flashes littering the dead woman's eyes with a false sense of life. He wonders how she could have wound up like this, her spine broken—snapped on impact, he would guess—her mouth gaping open from the shocking sight she had taken in before she passed on. "Make sure that the autopsy gets a full report on this. I don't want to make a full one for the King unless it's absolutely necessary."

Riza dips her head in response, deciding momentarily that no words are necessary in this grim moment in time.

The grayness of dawn subsides. Within fifteen minutes of stalking the wary corridors and crisscrossing pathways of the marketplace, Roy relishes the beginnings of rain. The crystal clear droplets slide down his military outfit, laced with blues and golds and admirable badges he'd accumulated over the recent years. At twenty-three years of age, he is reminded constantly that he's one of the youngest officers to ever assume the rank of a colonel, especially since the reinforcement of the New Age.

Although the position is still new to him, he'd planned from the very beginning to make sure that his fellow officers understood the weight of his ambitions. His dreams are much broader than they would appear, and only Riza, a woman who'd come to know him quite well throughout his lifetime, can understand the gravity of his thoughts and the weight of his desires. She is the closest thing to family that he has, and he can't imagine going through daily missions without his adjutant at his side, bolstering her impressive selection of weaponry whenever faced with danger.

"Colonel," Riza says, her arms folded firmly behind her back. Even now, with just the two of them as higher-ranked officials in this patrol, she is as formal as ever. "This could be handled in no time at all, if you'd like to leave the task to me. I'm sure that whatever rest you need you can gain while I'm working on this." Roy resists the urge to smirk—he can't help but be amused by her constant desire to make sure that he's in tip-top shape for insignificant purposes. She relishes in being the mother hen, he assumes.

"That's quite alright, Lieutenant," Roy replies, his gaze steady. He carefully pulls on his sleeve, ignoring the thick, black manacle clasped around his wrist. He understands that the Führer can listen in on their conversations whenever he pleases, and if he hears Riza voluntarily requesting for her superior officer to retire early, suspicion would arise. Unfortunately, Bradley was not a person to trifle with, even now, when the patrols were just beginning for Central, and the villages would soon cower in fear beneath the ranks.

Some days, when he's by himself and he knows for sure that no one can listen to the humming of his thoughts, he wishes that the people didn't fear them. In another universe, in a parallel dimension where Amestris would gradually accept the practice of dark arts, the worst being _alchemy_ , he envisions them smiling in gratitude for their actions. He doesn't enjoy the sight of children scrambling to the darkest corners of their homes, clutching their dolls and picture frames tightly to their scrawny chests, murmuring prayers in hopes that the frightening military officers would disappear…

His teeth sink into his tongue, willing himself to be rid of these thoughts. It's juvenile to have such wishes and hopes at his age, at his _rank_ , even when he was drafted and recommended by a family friend to devote his life to serving Führer, his army, and the dark, morbid laws that he established. The laws that governed each piece of Amestris, each hand of the rotating clock of a country abandoned by normalcy, were appointed in response to King Bradley's personal woes.

The death of his young son, Selim, promoted anti-alchemy propaganda to spring up in newspapers all across Amestris. Roy can think of numerous times when he'd walked into a bakery to pick up coffee and a roll of bread for a hopefully leisure afternoon, only to be granted with harsh, criminal reception, only because of the fear that he knew he struck into the hearts of commoners. Alchemy was once a widely accepted practice, and heavily used, but during these days they led to countless deaths. Executions ranked in the highest they'd been within the last twenty years.

Just last week, Roy was tasked with calling forth the execution of fifteen people, all for the same crime: dabbling in alchemical practices. Whether they were good reasons or horrid, he could not shake the withering faces of those people—young and old, all questionable criminals, each one tried with the same thing, destined for the same fate. The blade that slashed across their necks or hacked onto fleshy stubs without mercy were, thankfully, not by Roy's hand, but he wonders sometimes how that must _feel_.

"I don't think we're going to find anything else while out here, Colonel," Riza says. Her attention is fixated on the dawning skies, listening to the growing rhythm of the rain, and the heavy pounding of a storm in the distance. "We should head back."

"Perhaps you're right," Roy replies steadily, distracted.

This isn't the first time.

* * *

 **CENTRAL COMMAND CENTER –** _ **Interrogation Clinic for Convicted Felons**_

 **10 : 30 A.M.**

The clattering of metallic shackles on rosewood sends chills along the officers' spines. Swallowing quietly to themselves, with their backs pressed against the wall and their words lodged in their throats, they brace what is coming to them. They can hear the disoriented, muffled screams of protest from the most recent prisoner, said to be one of the most unstable and dangerous.

When he was dragged in, bound in thick titanium chains, they thought of any possible means to switch out their scouting hours with another poor pair of souls. However, their task remained, and they were said to simply stand in front of the door that led to the interrogation room, where one of the leading commanding officers would be there shortly to reprimand the prisoner firsthand.

It's been two hours since the mysterious boy was brought in—kicking, screaming, biting, gnawing, clawing, _growling_ —the only part of her body visible above the layers of binding chains and cloth being his eyes. They shone like twin suns, molten to the core with golden ferocity and the most intense doses of hatred that both of the soldiers have ever seen.

"Do you think that he's still upset?" Second Lieutenant Maria Ross whispers, wondering if the frightening prisoner beyond the door can hear her voice. Her close friend and partner, Denny Brosh, only nods his head, chuckling grimly in response to such a blatant observation.

"Of course he's still upset, Ross. And if we don't stand here the entire time, or, I don't know, unless someone gets here and can take our places, we might be the next victims…"

He sighs, wiping a clean sheet of sweat from his forehead. He can feel perspiration stains leak through his uniform, causing his cheeks to tint with embarrassment. He glances at Ross, noting the creamy complexion of her skin, her near-buzz-cut hairstyle, and the constantly kind gleam of her fresh blue eyes. She looks like she fits more of the role of a nurse than anything, and to his chagrin, his partner remains as one of the stronger officers in comparison to his occasional bouts of cowardice.

She catches him staring, raising an eyebrow. "Brosh?"

"Er, nothing… sorry," Brosh replies weakly, sorely embarrassed. He clears his throat, pushing his shoulders back. "We're clearly suited for this job for the time being though, don't you think?" He grins good-naturedly, and Ross can't help but return the smile.

"They're probably going to have Colonel Mustang in there, like usual."

Just mentioning the title of one of the most respected men in Central makes them both grin in admiration. Roy Mustang is easily regarded as _the_ man to turn to in times of trouble, and just an hour prior to their door posting, he was scouring the lower districts of Central with a tight patrol to investigate the most recent murder.

Death has become an extremely common occurrence, especially murder. Ross's stomach plummets to her toes as the thoughts circulate through her mind. She's always had a hard time grasping the concept of death, and understanding the lengths that they, as soldiers and protectors of Amestris, were destined to embrace.

"Good _afternoon_ officers!"

Brosh and Ross stiffen, their hands flying to their foreheads in automatic saluting gestures. Ross's cheeks color with embarrassment when she recognizes the intruder's profile, with his square jaw, distinctive pair of glasses, five o'clock shadow and tousled deep black hair. His smile is wide and inescapable—a rare sight amongst the Military Legion of Amestris.

"Colonel Hughes," Brosh says, grinning and bowing respectfully. "It's good to see you, Sir!"

"You two seem pretty stiff for a fine afternoon like this," Hughes replies, a deep laugh rumbling in his broad chest. He folds his arms, quirking an interested brow at the sight of the tightly locked door and the closed blinds. "I heard about a blonde boy being taken in for custody for practicing alchemy in the outskirts of Central. Guessing he's in there?"

Ross dips her head, a concerned frown stretching her lips to a thin line. "Yes. Officer Brosh and I don't really know a lot of the details. We were instructed to remain standing here until an official arrives for the interrogation."

Hughes scratches his chin, pondering. "I see. Any points of interest that you two have noticed over the last couple of days?" They both shake their heads. "It's sad, really, to see all of this death and destruction in Central, alone. Part of a patrol just came back from touring Rush Valley, and more bodies were recovered there as well." Grimness flashes through his eyes, a dash of gray behind his glasses. "Anyway, keep up the good work!" He straightens his shoulders. "I should be heading off pretty soon for other matters."

"We were almost certain that you were supposed to interrogate the prisoner, Sir," Denny Brosh interjects, his brow furrowing in confusion. Hughes glances towards him with indifference and a perplexed frown. "I mean, I'm sorry, if that wasn't what you were here for, Sir…"

Hughes turns to the door, listening to the chafing of chair legs against tiled floors. He can practically hear the humming, the sharp breathing and frustrated finger-twitching of the criminal holed within that enclosed room. He knows he's not supposed to be the one interrogating anyone, especially today with news in Rush Valley traveling in their direction and not all of the patrols having returned yet.

"… Eh, perhaps I can go inside and loosen them up, eh?" Hughes laughs. "What could be harmful about that?" He's not the type of person to bend any rules, but he knows that with these two on watch duty, they won't peep a word. He casts them both rather knowing glances, keeping his chin high. "Make sure no one goes in there, yeah? I'll be quick. And if the correct officer arrives for interrogation, I'll pass the baton."

Ross gapes. "Um, are you sure about this, Sir—"

"Of course! Have I ever done you two wrong?" Both of the soldiers exchange wary glances, exploring the innermost of their subconscious. Neither of them can clearly think of any incident where Colonel Hughes ever tried to bend the rules for his own sake, but he appears vigilant and interested, and that's enough to warrant him entry, in their mutual opinion.

"Alright then, Sir. Good luck to you!" Brosh stammers, casually stepping aside and letting the much taller, more powerful (and yet somehow extremely _welcoming_ and _friendly_ ) man wrap his fingers around the doorknob.

With a contemplative twist, the officer slowly opens the door, stepping into a hollow, deceptively wide space. The monochrome color scheme is meant to deliver a sense of cooperation and stimulate loneliness within the captive, and it's a decent strategy when there's a particularly rough and wily criminal brought into this holding area. However, when Hughes lifts his chin and stares in the direction of the mysterious, newest addition to the Central Command Center, he can't help but hold back his surprise.

A pair of broiling hot eyes the color of amber catch the glare of his glasses.

He stands there momentarily, his lips pursed tightly as he ponders how to handle this, awkwardness seeping into his veins. He hadn't expected the shadow of maturity to dwell behind the prisoner's features, the only visible detail being the crease of a brow and strands of what appear to be wheat-colored hair escaping the tight binds.

Hughes is familiar with the constrictive material. Exceptionally dangerous or well-known criminals— _exclusive_ to those caught breaking the Fifth Commandment of Führer Bradley's New Age—were usually brought into questioning with very little of their features revealed for the sake of privacy.

The prisoner's body is completely concealed beneath layers of multicolored strappings and metallic plates, the hands encased in titanium gloves, linked together with a pair of matching cuffs around the wrists. Hughes has never seen such extended lengths needed to keep a prisoner under wire, especially with the _size_ of this apparent "threat".

He would not think this person was a threat at all, if not for the intense, smoldering eyes and the undeniable waves of hatred and temperament radiating from the boy's body. Hughes gradually takes a seat across the silver table separating them, noting with interest that the boy's wrists are stacked on the table, the fingers somewhat interlocked, as if patiently waiting for what was to come.

"You're much smaller than I expected," Hughes remarks, laughing at the shade of disapproval and annoyance dwelling in those cold, youthful eyes. "Alright. Well, I'm not technically supposed to be here, but humor me. At least tell me your name if possible." He observes the tight muzzle with breathing holes around the boy's face, clamped and undoubtedly locked so tight that any dog would surely never be able to break out of it.

The boy glances away from him, glaring hotly towards the opposite wall.

"Huh. Okay, then." Hughes smirks, pricking up his glasses. Whoever had to deal with this _happy camper_ was going to need to level up their patience.

* * *

 **CENTRAL COMMAND CENTER –** _ **Colonel Roy Mustang's Office**_

 **12 : 30 P.M.**

A storm finally breaks by the time Riza Hawkeye appears in his office, her chest heaving in pants and her hair disheveled from sprinting down the hallway in lightning speed.

Roy glances up from his paperwork, a headache already beginning to form in his temples. He'd been scrambling over the latest reports over murders and spontaneous deaths near and within Central for the last couple of hours, completely transfixed on the faces of those who had passed on.

"Colonel," she says, her brow suddenly furrowing in concern. "Are you alright? You look pale." Her worry washes away the news she was about to deliver.

Roy rubs one temple, releasing an exasperated sigh. "Sorry, I know I don't look all that _motivated_ at the moment. God only knows when we'll actually get a damn break once in a while." He snorts, swiveling in his chair and listening to the gentle, relaxing rhythm of the rain. He closes his eyes, envisioning the soldiers currently patrolling the streets of several villages, towns, districts, all for the sake of finding more and more bodies. They kept hitting the floor, kept bleeding new blood, from the young and the elderly, from the healthy and the ill…

He stiffens, smirking slightly at the familiar presence of Riza's gloved hand on his shoulder. Her sympathy shines clear through her eyes, her eyelashes fluttering delicately. _Delicate_ , Roy snickers in observation—a word that he never uses for the woman, but in this moment she seems to be at her most vulnerable.

"Truly, I never meant to look like this. Not today, at least." Roy shrugs, but he flashes her a thankful, close-mouthed grin nonetheless. To reassure her would at least buy him more time to recuperate, and he doesn't want his friend to lose sleep over his jumbled thoughts. It would be unfair to place his visions and dreams on her shoulders. "What did you have for me, Lieutenant?"

Riza dips her head, removing her hand cautiously. "In the east wing of the building, I was instructed to bring another felon to your attention. Officers Brosh and Ross are there at the moment on guard duty, but it's been requested directly from the Führer that he wants you to personally interrogate the person in custody."

Roy leans back against his chair, twiddling his thumbs. His relationship with the Führer is undoubtedly shifty with the constant competition flaring in the air, usually occurring in full gatherings between headquarters. He glances at Riza, raising an eyebrow. "Why is this one so special?" There were countless criminals brought into custody nearly every single day.

Riza sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. Roy sees the exhaustion forming purple bruises beneath her eyes; a pang of guilt swells in his chest. She probably hasn't slept in days. "This specific felon practiced a dangerous form of alchemy in the outskirts of Central, on one of the routes leading directly to Rush Valley. They told me that he's a teenager, most likely, but they didn't take time to make sure."

Roy rolls his eyes. "Again, nothing that new. He'll be put on death row for his use of alchemy just like the others. I don't know why we waste so much time."

"The system is still not as corrupt as you think," his friend inquires, her brow furrowing carefully. "You understand that, Colonel. You can't convince me that you would just dismiss this because you know the inevitable."

He propped his elbows on his desk, his gaze sweeping over the numerous paper-clipped stacks of paperwork, the lone photograph of him as a child with his mother in the corner, and a wax stump that once resembled a candle. He groans in misery, tempted to slam his head and toss his career down the ravine for the sake of having one day of rest. But even he knows that the temptation to rest will not stop his muscles from twitching in one way or another.

 _It's not like Hawkeye will let me, either_ , he inwardly moans. "Alright. I'll get to it." Before he can stand up, his telephone rings, the vibrations traveling through his desk and snatching his attention. He glances at Riza curiously, but she only shrugs in bewilderment. He sits back down, picking it up without another thought. "Roy Mustang, Central office."

" _Oi, Mustang!"_ Roy jerks his head back, laughing dryly in surprise. His closest friend in the workforce is easily recognizable on the other line, even with only the sound of his voice. _"How have you been today? Oh, did I ever let you know that my amazing and beautiful wife and daughter are going to visit the headquarters soon? I'm pretty sure I mentioned that… but a father and husband can never be too sure."_

"Right, right…" Roy chuckles, gesturing for Riza to check the hallways, a routine to be sure no one of a high rank would stumble in on a pointless phone call. "Any particular reason you're phoning me, Hughes?" These calls are more common then they should be, and Colonel Mustang has never admitted that he actually _enjoys_ these diversions from work, but maybe that just added to the overall charm that was Maes Hughes.

" _Well, I'm sure Hawkeye's reported to you by now, but we've got an… interesting, teenager here in custody. You'll want to come see this."_

Roy blinks, shuffling through his documents, hoping he can find a name if Hughes brings it up. "Yeah, she just told me that there's someone in custody and that I've been requested to interrogate them myself. Or, him, apparently."

" _Perfect. But really, you should get here soon. I think you'll be the only one to get something out of this kid."_

* * *

 **CENTRAL COMMAND CENTER –** _ **Interrogation Clinic for Convicted Felons**_

 **12 : 45 P.M.**

By the time Colonel Mustang and Riza Hawkeye arrive at the interrogation wing, Maria Ross and Denny Brosh seem more uncomfortable than they had a couple hours earlier. They are standing away from the door, watching through the two-way glass window in case an accident occurs inside the room. Roy peeks through, observing Hughes standing on the opposite side of the room from the teenager brought into custody.

"Be careful. They had a lot of trouble bringing him in," Riza warns. She knows that she can't join her superior; an odd rule to enforce, but it's there nonetheless. Roy nods at her reassuringly, casually motioning towards the door and opening it. He steps inside, glancing between Hughes and the felon, and his eyebrows slightly raise in bewilderment.

He has never seen a criminal bound like this. At least, not while working for King Bradley. The cloth bindings are completely concealing the teenager's face, the hands and wrists bound completely in titanium and metal, and he can't help but notice the intense creasing of the convict's brow. He can practically _hear_ the grinding teeth, but can't see anything about the apparent boy's face with it concealed behind the muzzle-like stretch of metal.

The boy is much… smaller, than he had anticipated.

"Interesting ensemble," Roy murmurs. Hughes glances over to him, his usual smile spread wide across his face, as if he's amused by the whole thing.

"I've been trying to get him to talk this entire time. The most I get are a few grunts." He stands up, offering his empty seat. "Go ahead, Mustang. You know how to get to the best of them."

With that, he leaves.

Roy takes his seat, preparing the folder beside him on the table stretch. He'd already gathered what information he could about the confrontation in the Central outskirts. He stares across him, deep black depths connecting immediately with the most ferocious pair of golden, liquefying eyes he'd ever seen. He pauses for a moment, instantly figuring that this person is not who he seems.

"… Let's start with names," Roy says, clearing his throat. "Colonel Roy Mustang, at your service." He dips his head, the snide humor of his voice not going unnoticed. He almost laughs at the clear _tic_ forming in the teen's left eyelid. "Mind telling me yours? I can see that you should be able to speak with that monstrosity on."

The boy looks away, chest rising and falling in steady breaths.

 _He's angry_ , Roy observes. "I don't want to resort to less comfortable methods of making you talk." He scowls, expecting his hardened presence to unsettle the other person. However, to his surprise, he notices a sharp _eye-roll_ from the felon. He bristles, sitting back and straightening his shoulders. "Don't push my buttons, boy. I know how to fight, and I'm not above _making_ you talk."

He can almost _feel_ Riza glaring at him in disapproval behind the glass…

The boy gives no reaction, and he groans in annoyance. Perhaps threats are not going to be the necessary tool to reach him.

"We just want answers for now," Roy continues, leaning onto his upturned palm, his elbow propped on the table. "I can stay here all day. There are times where I've camped over, stayed several nights, just waiting for the other to talk. They usually crack by then, though." He grins, shaking his head bemusedly. "Alright, then, let's go over why you're here."

He rifles through the papers provided, eyes narrowing over the scant details. "So, you were practicing a hefty amount of alchemy in the presence of the general public, without supervising on top of that, and endangered the lives of the common folk on a direct route to Rush Valley. In other words, quite close to the outskirts of Central. Not very intelligent of you to commit the most punishable crime in Amestris, right outside the country's capital."

He glances up. The teen still hasn't looked at him, those tantalizing pools of amber burning holes into the wall.

"It says you performed _transmutation_ , calling forth what would be deemed as a huge threat if you were not stopped in time. A brutal killing had already occurred there minutes before the patrol took you under arrest." He hears the shuffling of chains, the beating of the teenager's heart clearly going faster once Roy mentioned the facts. He closes the folder, pondering for a moment. "They stopped you before you could endanger the lives of many people. Is that right? A terrorist attack just outside of Central? It would explain your location, your timing… just about everything, really. Unless you have grueling details and an explanation as to why you were there."

He's not too surprised that the teen still refuses to acknowledge his existence, but his words have clearly made an impact. He can feel the seething anger, the growing temperament residing in the small body sitting across from him. He wonders how someone this small could be so threatening; he had an extremely difficult time even picturing this teenager facing their officers.

"Roy."

He blinks, looking over his shoulder towards the open door, where his lieutenant is standing with her hands firmly grasped around the keys to the prisoner's shackles. She hands them to her superior, dipping her head and leaving without another word. Roy watches her form disappear past the two-way glass, her patience clearly already worn thin.

He sighs. He would probably get an earful later. He stands up with the keys, looking between them and the boy—who was now finally turned towards him, pupils dilated in interest with the ridged objects in Colonel Mustang's grasp.

"I'm feeling generous," Roy began, shrugging casually. "If you promise to not hold anything back, I'll unlock that weird muzzle over your mouth." He frowns in disapproval at the almost animalistic way that his officers—people _he himself_ commanded—had actually gone through and placed that horrible thing over the teen's face.

The teen straightens, and delivers a nod so brief and tiny that anyone other than Roy Mustang would never notice. He chuckles, walking over to the boy and bending down beside him. He balances on one knee, paying careful attention to the hole lodged to the side of the device. He can hear the cautious breathing, the clear uncomfortable aura radiating between them with the close proximity. He blinks, an unusual, unexpected smell suddenly drifting through his nostrils.

… _Lavender_?

He stands up after the satisfying click in the metal device. He grasps the edge of it, pulling it away slowly as to make sure the skin is not attached in any way. He turns his back to the prisoner, remaining distant as he makes his way back to his chair. He brushes the thought of the weird, definitely not-masculine scent out of his mind.

When he faces the convict directly once more, his eyes widen. He slowly raises one eyebrow in speculation, not entirely sure what he's thinking as he takes in the details of the teenager's face.

The face is undoubtedly young, yet almost so young that the large, emotional golden eyes are like twin, molten suns; far too mature and brazen with years of haunted history, just as secretive as they are interesting. By removing the muzzle, the hair had also gone free, revealing a rather frazzled crown of golden hair that matched the color of the teen's eyes, swept back over the shoulders in a twisting motion, so Roy can only assume that it's a braid or low ponytail of some kind.

If he were anyone else, he would have found this face, this interestingly shaped, unique heart of rose-tinted tan and tight-lipped frown to be… _attractive_? He swallows, willing that thought out of his mind an instant, noticing that this young person it not at all who—and _what_ —his fellow officers had expected.

This prisoner was, without a doubt, _female_. And probably younger than the nineteen years of age that he expected to account for.

"My _name_ ," the prisoner growls out, sounding relieved to have the metal removed, "is _Edward_ , you sick fuck."

Roy's skin bristles. _Wow._ The simultaneous _spirit_ and pigheadedness wafting off of this teenager is frenzying up a storm. He thinks he'll laugh about his later, wondering how he could be caught up in this situation right now, face-to-face with a pipsqueak _girl_ (how the flying hell did she take on his soldiers like that?) whose features gleamed with an ancient touch, accompanied with a glare rivaling the heat of lava.

"And I'm not telling you a damn thing until you _military assholes_ give me my brother back." She's saying each word through tightly clenched teeth. Roy mentally gives her points for her attitude, but it's also quite unpleasant to be witnessing.

Roy reels back, frowning. "Hold on a minute—"

"What, already tired of hearing me talk?" she snaps.

The colonel scowls. " _Quiet_." Shit, and the clasp has been off for only a minute. "What's this about your brother? And your name is _Edward_?" He'd never heard of a name like that for a female. "I want to know all of the details, Ms. Edward." He leans in, curiosity glistening in lakes of obsidian. "I can assure you that I know nothing about your brother. Please cooperate, and I'll make sure that, when all things are cleared, I can turn you in the direction you want to go. But right now, you're in Central, being kept here for _interrogation_. You broke one of the strictest laws in Amestris. I need to have some accountability for my position in the workforce, here, but I'd be lying if I said that I wouldn't want to hear your side of the story."

She turns her attention to the enormous shackles encasing her wrists. The rest of her body is still concealed within the heavy, chain-strewn cloth, but Roy can swear that he hears something _else_ —similar to metal, he's sure of it—scrape on the inside of one of the shackle holes.

"I'm not a criminal," she whispers suddenly, catching Roy off-guard. He watches her, her face more relaxed, but more solemn as well. "What I did… I was protecting them, that small family of four in the stables." Her brow furrows at the memory. "I was arrested for trying to protect them, and for some reason you guys linked what I was trying to do to some fluke murder spree in the town just a mile away? What the hell is wrong with you?" She glares frigidly. "I didn't do _anything_ wrong. Whatever laws your _leader_ appoints is utter bullshit."

Roy had remained silent the entire time she spoke, listening to the racing of her breaths, paying as much attention as possible to the frustration ebbing into her voice. She has anger management issues, he can see that clearly, but there's something else dwelling in her heart.

He can tell, outright, that she is not a criminal. She's telling him the truth.

 _Damn._ He rubs the back of his neck, knowing that the next few hours were going to be downright _miserable_.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading everyone! I've recently fallen in love with** _ **Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood**_ **. So, yes, this is my first ever fic in that category.**

 **The show itself is such an emotionally engaging spectacle. But, yeah, I wanted to get this puppy out, since I love the idea of a Fem!Edward (genderbending can be fun, no?) and this idea's fun to mess with, so why not?**

 **Please leave a review! If you'd be so kind.** **Also feel free to PM me for questions or anything else related to this story. Thank you so much for taking time to read this!**

 **Until next time!**

 **\- Sulfur Dusk**


	2. Chapter II

**The Phoenix**

\- _A Fullmetal Alchemist Story_ -

* * *

 **II**

The Colonel

* * *

 **CENTRAL COMMAND CENTER –** _ **Interrogation Clinic for Convicted Felons**_

 **2 : 30 P.M.**

She does not deserve to be here.

The shackles are suffocating, her skin brushing harshly against the metal with the flesh of her arm that's fully intact. She's now breathing the same air as the despicable soldiers who stalk the halls of the Central Command Center with far too much girth and overconfidence for her liking. She wants to be anywhere else but _here_ , sitting across a polished steel table from a raven-haired soldier who believes that he can make her spill all of the details.

Edward Elric doesn't owe the military _anything_. She's been doing her best to run this man dry of questions, but he was persistent—he had done this before. Countless times, she would have to guess, since when he asks her a question that she refuses to answer, he fires back with another one that is even stronger and harder to avoid. He tempts her with knowledge of her surroundings, of the information regarding her arrest. He's already been surprised at the fact that she's a girl—pompous bastard—but she's not going to let him faze her.

"Tell me about where you're from, Ms. Elric," the colonel says suddenly. She snaps her head to face him, steadying her frustrated levels of breathing. She wants to tackle him and wrestle him to the ground, even though he's clearly twice her size and could easily break her neck. Her stubbornness exceeds her expectations for reality at times. "And, please, don't just say that you're a _wanderer._ If anything, we all are, so that's no excuse."

"I don't owe you an explanation as to who I am and where I'm from. I already gave you a name." She clicks her tongue, raising one eyebrow. "I don't know why you're so obsessed with me. I'm sure there are plenty of other ridiculous criminals that are actually worth your time."

She's given him similar answers over the last two hours, and she's pretty damn sure that she can keep it up for as long as she needs to. She watches him closely, noticing the slight twitch of his eyelid, the fumble of his gloved fingers as he flips through her file. She's surprised at the size—just how much material does the military have under their belts? Clearly, a lot more than she originally anticipated.

She'd been around Central for one purpose and one purpose only: to find her brother. To Edward, it wasn't fair that this uniformed asshole could ask her whatever he wanted and soon be on his merry way, but he refused to answer any of her questions in return. It was a game between the two of them, bantering back and forth with little ammunition in their wording, other than backed by beliefs of justice and honor.

Edward decided a while ago that she wasn't the colonel's _most adoring_ fan.

"Give me a reason why I should believe you," he says, his voice piercing the brief moment of silence. She searches his eyes for any deception—none. "I've worked for the military for a number of years, and they trust my input more than most officers. I was instructed to interrogate you on behalf of the entire Central wing, and, with that in mind, I was planning to get this over with as soon as possible. But, clearly, you're liking the fact that you're tugging me along your games."

Edward bristles. _Fuck you._ "I've been telling you the truth. Didn't I say that around two hours ago, when you first walked through that door?" She notices the slight dilation of his pupils, against depths of obsidian that sear with aggression and hidden agenda. She wants to know what he's thinking. "My brother was kidnapped around ten years ago by the military." She doesn't want to say these crucial details, but she knows that the colonel isn't going to give her any choice. "You have him in your custody. I know you do."

He frowns, rubbing his chin and flipping through the documents set in front of him for the fiftieth time that afternoon. "I can assure you, Ms. Elric, that we have no one in relation to you in our custody. I can promise you that I'm telling you the utmost truth."

She rolls her eyes. "I'm sure that all of you always claim to being _honest_ and _frivolous_ and so forth. If you're curious about the reason I came to Central, it's because I was searching for my brother. I need to make sure that he's safe."

She's not going to give him everything that he wants—perhaps probing him for little details will shed some light on her goals. She wants him to tell her exactly what she needs to know, yet at the same time, she has no desire to explain too much about herself.

"You do realize that you're demanding some crazy things," he adds, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Listen, Ms. Elric, Edward, whatever. All I'm asking for is your cooperation. I'm not going to just sit here and banter with you for hours on end. If this doesn't go smoothly, you will surely be executed without a second thought, purely for breaking the Führer's most untouchable law."

Edward's eyes narrow. "I know that I'm probably going to die, regardless of what I tell you and what you tell me, _Sir_." She spits the last word, hoping that it grates his nerves. She can see him twitch slightly in irritation, but to her disappointment, that's the only reaction she gets. She sighs, starting to get tired of talking to him. "If that's what we're pushing off—this inevitable execution—then feel free to leave me be. I have nothing more to say to you."

She's not afraid to die. She'd been told that she was stubborn ever since she was small, prancing through wide, open fields of green and fresh white blossoms. Resembool is a beautiful speckle within a terrifyingly dark country.

She recalls her memories swiftly and without regret; the acts she committed as a child far exceeded the worst crimes of the most deceitful people who are executed on a daily basis. She remembers her mother, standing frozen in the kitchen, her hands poised over the sink, and her eyes sopping wet with tears she never wanted to shed. Edward had caused her mother to experience those lapses of turmoil. She can never forgive herself for causing her family so much pain, for allowing combustible shame to dwell in the heart of her younger brother.

"Ms. Elric?"

She blinks, briefly coming back into reality. She hardens her gaze, hoping to keep up an intimidating presence for the soldier opposite of her.

"You seem distressed," he acknowledges seriously.

He locks eye contact with her, and if she were anyone else, she would have found him to be a good-looking person. Her mother liked people like him—tall, strong, noble in appearance and mannerisms. That was what her father looked like, if she remembers his strong jaw and statue-like disposition correctly. However, as far as Edward is concerned, he's a foul creature, forced to bolster a heart of gold that no one actually trusts. At least, no one with _sense_ would trust him, anyway.

"Why would you care?" Edward says, feigning boredom. She wants to stretch her aching muscles, relish the flexibility in her arms and torso, but being strapped to this chair is making her anxious.

"I don't."

"You're terrible at showing it, then."

"You're a _brat_ , you know that?" the colonel finally says, sounding like he'd been holding back those details for quite a while. Edward notes the way he's gripping the pieces of paper. Impressively, his face remains taut and controlled, like pulling strips of animal flesh before beating them into leather. "Though I suppose you're being difficult on purpose. This wouldn't be the first time I've had to deal with someone with your appalling effort to be annoying."

Each word flows off his tongue in smooth grace. Of course, Edward is content with the image of yanking said tongue and watching him plant his face into the table.

"Are we done here?"

The colonel, admittedly, to her surprise, simply shakes his head and pushes the stack of papers off to the side. He rests his hands on the table, intertwining his fingers and raking his eyes over her form with an unknown glint in his eyes. Those pools of sulfur are strict and admonishing, and as much as she hates to admit it, they chill her to the bone—he's clearly bred for authority.

"It's to my understanding that you haven't eaten anything since you've been taken into custody." Edward blinks owlishly at his words, her brow furrowing in confusion. At the look on her face, the colonel smirks for the first time that afternoon, and dips his head. "Well, then, I'll be glad to get grab some lunch. Whether you hate the military or not, you can't deny that we have some decent food on hand."

He wants her to cave in. He can feel the radiating hunger from her stomach. She _is_ starving… but she's not going to let him abuse her weaknesses like this. She shifts in her seat, turning away from his _stupid_ face and refusing to respond.

"I _can_ bring you some food. Technically, that wouldn't normally be allowed, but some rules can be bent for the sake of the hungry, I suppose." His tone is mocking, condescending. She hates him even more for it.

She does her best to not think of all the things she's craving right now. It's been months since she's eaten the food that she actually _enjoyed_. As a child, her mother would make her favorite breakfast: three perfectly circular pancakes, topped with strawberries and a gigantic dollop of whipped cream. She indulged in her sweet tooth while her brother enjoyed a simpler option, but he always liked copying her.

Her eyes soften at the memory, fingers curling into her palms beneath the weight of the shackles. She wants to take these damn things off and do what she can to find her sibling, the one person she cares about. She will do whatever she can to help him; wherever he is, she wonders if the guards here offer him food in the same way that this man is trying to manipulate her.

"Suit yourself," the colonel says. "I'll be back in… say, ten minutes." He stands up, gathering his papers and walking towards the door. His gloved hand pauses over the doorknob, glancing one last time in her direction. She catches him looking and hardens her eyes once more, not daring to let him scope out the faintest details of her solemnity, the weakness of her subconscious.

She doesn't say a word when he finally leaves. The only reason she doesn't scream in fury and try to yank the chains is because she knows she's still being watched.

* * *

 **~ 000 ~**

* * *

 **CENTRAL COMMAND CENTER** **–** _ **Indoor Café and Restaurant Facilities**_

 **2 : 56 P.M.**

The coffee bar in Central is of surprising quality, and it only exists because of letters of recommendation for improvement in the lives of the officers. Roy, of course, never complained about the introduction of decent pre-packaged sandwiches and fresh mugs of coffee. Lieutenant Hawkeye enjoyed the vanilla lattes, but she never admits to this when he brings them to her to surprise her whenever he can—she works too hard to not deserve at least a _small_ reward once in a while.

The checkerboard floors and rosewood walls provide a nice contrast. A row if black-rimmed windows line the opposite side of the café's length. A quaint arrangement of chairs and tables make the area look less empty. For once, this late in the afternoon, Roy is alone. He picks up a sandwich and a bottle of water—it's too late for coffee.

He then strides to one of the tables, plopping down the food and slinging the documents in front of him once more.

It takes him twenty minutes to look over all of these notes again. He had expected Edward Elric to lie and lie and _lie_ , to cover up the sole reasons she was visiting the outskirts of Central. Her explanation was surprisingly solid, and he wanted to believe her. She's young, and fiery, with a temper that probably matched that of Riza's. He smirks at the thought, running his hands through his hair.

 _A real handful, this one._ She's definitely frustrating. He pulls out her photographs, the analysis of her character, and reports of her actions that got her arrested in the first place. His eyes skim over the details he already knows: her height, hair color, misplaced gender (he rolls his eyes at this), attire, age…

The figments of the report that catch his attention are the footnotes at the bottom of each page. They have intricate details, handwritten and splayed out in a familiar cursive format that he's definitely seen before. The scrawls take note of the prisoner's technique, the moves she used while facing the patrol that sought her out.

 _Please notify Colonel Roy Mustang of this prisoner and have him responsible for the interrogation process. His adjutant is Riza Hawkeye. This prisoner is too valuable to set loose as of now. No matter what circumstance, do not mention this to Mustang._

Roy's eyes widen, his finger sliding over the indentations of ink, picturing the author's tension in his own hand while he pressed as hard as he could into the surface. He realizes that these footnotes are paper-clipped to the other documents; addressed to someone he's never heard of before… perhaps a new officer? He had expected to gloss over the names of Denny Brosh, or Maria Ross, or even Maes Hughes, but he can't see any of those names on these files.

"Roy! Already done interrogating? Or just on break?"

 _Speak of the devil._ Roy lifts his head to meet the ever-happy gaze of his friend, Hughes. The other man looks much more tired than the colonel is prepared for: his clothes are disheveled; his glasses are windows to the bags under his eyes. He has a steel thermos in one hand, pausing on his way to grab his own serving of piping hot coffee. Roy clasps his fingers together and closes the folder.

"Break," he says, distracted.

Hughes smirks. "That boy's a handful, eh?"

"Girl, actually," Roy comments, shaking his head. "And calling her a handful would be an understatement."

"Really." Hughes takes a seat across from him, raising an eyebrow. "I'm surprised the questioning is lasting this long," he adds, chuckling. "This could be good for you, Colonel. A nice little change in your routine, eh?"

Roy smirks. "We'll see." He thinks back to the smoldering amber eyes, the insults she hurled at him, each word akin to a popping firecracker. "She was demanding some odd things, though. It wasn't like the usual questions, where the convict is normally pretty adamant about what they were doing and at the threat of their life will cough up all of their secrets. This girl is much younger than we expected, and…" he tries to find the right word. "… _Different_."

Hughes thinks about this for a second, reaching over and grabbing two packets of sugar. "How so?"

The black-haired colonel suppresses a sigh. "She's adamant of her innocence, but in a way where I'm finding it hard to perceive them as lies. She says she's not afraid of death." He reflects on their one-sided conversations, picking out bits and pieces that would be relevant to the information he wants to relay to Hughes. "She keeps demanding that we tell her where her brother is."

Hughes pauses in sipping his coffee. Steam clouded over the mug. "Her brother?"

"Yes."

Roy remembers the split second of vulnerability that passed over Edward Elric's features—the sadness that would normally be vibrant on that of a child. He decided back in the clinic that she was very childlike, especially with how she handled his presence, but her emotions were mature, simultaneously haywire and grounded. She wanted answers from him. He doesn't have any to give her.

"Hm. Well, at least she told you _something_. Find the brother, and maybe you can get some more answers out of here. From what I've gathered, the Führer doesn't want her put on death row, despite her breaking the law in the way she did." Hughes' tone is completely serious, even when shadowed with unexpected pity. "I do feel bad, though. She's young, from what I've gathered. Some of these laws are a bit… stricter, than the ones we grew up with. But, what Bradley says goes."

Roy stares at his friend warily, pondering. "I'd be lying if I said that I didn't have similar thoughts." But, finding this girl's brother? What if she really _was_ lying, and he was being blind to her manipulation? Then again, she has no reason to lie. She has no motive, and finding said sibling seems to be the only gravity-defying situation that she holds in her mind.

But, talking to this girl is making him re-evaluate his abilities to read criminals.

"You should bring up the option," Hughes says, grabbing Roy's attention once more. "You know, a favor for a favor, a secret for a secret, and so forth. If you promise that you can deliver information about her brother for her, maybe she'll tell you why she did what she did." He eyes the hot liquid in his mug, his thumb brushing the porcelain handle. "That might bring you one step closer."

Roy strokes one temple, already feeling a migraine developing. "I've considered that, but I feel that lying wouldn't be very becoming. I don't like false promises, even to convicts." _Especially if the people I'm lying to end up being honest._

"Who said you had to lie?" Hughes mutters, hiding his smirk behind a swig of his drink. "I was simply offering a solid idea. No hidden agenda intended."

Roy watches his friend, the crease of his brow scrunching up in thought. Riza would sometimes comment on how he will grow older faster with the amount of stress he puts on his shoulders, but it's because of situations like this, moral dilemmas that tax his youthful energy, that he can't help but feel incredibly old. This girl, this _Edward_ character, is going to be much more of a hassle than he'd anticipated, and maybe what Hughes is telling him know would help him step in the right direction.

"I'll think about it. Thank you for your input, friend."

Roy eyes the line of sandwiches along the walls, counting the different arrangements of flavors. Even though the blonde criminal denied it, he suspects that she's hungry. Her mannerisms remind him of a frustrated rabbit, combined with the temperament of a rhinoceros. An interesting comparison, but accurate nonetheless.

"You're going to _feed_ her? Look at you, being all gentlemanly, even when it's against the rules!" Hughes laughs. "That's why a man like you, Mustang, would be a great husband! Just you wait, one lucky lady will be snatched up by you yet!" Roy stares at him blankly. "Oh, don't give me that look. Have you not seen my beautiful family? Life only gets better after you find a woman you love and commit and have children. I don't regret the choices I've made, not one day."

Colonel Mustang shakes his head tentatively. "She's going to pass out from deprivation if she keeps refusing to eat. There's no use in having her starving and lightheaded."

Perhaps he cares, in a way. Maybe there's an ounce of respect he has for people like her, with their clear stubbornness and ambition that reminds him of himself, but he can control his goals. He _has_ the ability to remain mature and levelheaded—the Elric girl, as far as he can tell, does not.

"I'm not looking to get married anytime soon," he finally says, breaking the brief silence. Hughes only grins, but he nods knowingly, respecting these words.

Roy's had plenty of admirers. Within Central alone, he's quite familiar with the multiple fan clubs sprouting out of seemingly nowhere, dedicated to honoring his name. He regards it as simple flattery, but it remains of little interest. He has no time for romance, and he's made that thought quite clear to the rest of the officers stationed in Central. He's perfectly content with the idea of never falling in love, in which Hughes often disregards this as ridiculous, nearly delusional thinking.

"If you insist, Mustang."

* * *

 **~ 000 ~**

* * *

 **CENTRAL COMMAND CENTER –** _ **Interrogation Clinic for Convicted Felons**_

 **3 : 40 P.M.**

Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye wasn't sure what to expect when she strolled into the interrogation cell, hoping to at least engage the arrested female in a conversation that wouldn't end in threats or murderous attempts. She'd convinced Officers Brosh and Ross that it would be fine for her to make an attempt to talk to the prisoner, especially since she'd changed out of her more formal military attire, and paid attention to the fact that she switched into an outfit that would be much less intimidating.

She hadn't expected to see total exhaustion and emotional tiredness drape over the criminal like a wet blanket. She watches the golden-haired criminal, noting her breathing patterns, her hostile gaze that is now turned towards her. Riza is wearing simple jeans, a long-sleeved white shirt, and her hair is loose, tumbling over her shoulders in straight waves.

She'd been instructed by higher officials to keep watch over the criminal until Colonel Mustang returned. Riza had agreed, only because she knew that it would probably help Roy, but she's also determined to be sure that this girl doesn't try to break out of her chains. Her muzzle had been removed, and she's glad to see that the amount of hatred has somewhat depleted—she knows that the disgust and more heated emotions are directed towards Mustang. She feels like he'll need a diversion tactic before he enters the room again.

"Who are you?"

Riza looks up at the voice. She observes the girl's features, inside of her twisting in disappointment at the youthfulness. This criminal is clearly young, and containing far too much fire to be destined for death. It's too soon, but the law called for her life.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye," Riza says. "I'm Colonel Mustang's adjutant. You don't have to talk to me if you don't wish to." She somewhat hopes that the girl _will_ talk to her. She's curious—something about her is letting her know that there's much more to the felon's story than anyone else probably thinks.

She wonders if Roy sees it too.

"… Edward." The unexpected voice startles Riza, but she slightly smiles in response to the whispered name.

"It's nice to meet you, Edward."

Edward tilts her head to the side, observing Riza curiously. "I saw you earlier. You gave the colonel the keys to unlock that… muzzle, thing." Her nose wrinkles at the thought. "Why did you do that?"

The lieutenant dips her head, checking her watch. "You're not an animal," she states simply. Edward blinks in slight surprise, but the suspicion still rests behind those features. She's tough, and undoubtedly analytical, but she can't fool Riza. "I understand why you don't trust me. If I were in your position, I wouldn't either. It's part of the guaranteed relationship between officers and criminals."

Edward snorted. "Tell me something I don't know." She watches Riza for a solid minute or two, absorbing the details of her movements.

The lieutenant can easily decipher when someone is watching her. Her history as one of the most feared snipers in warfare history has granted her that blessing. She smiles, trying to keep the conversation comfortable; to calm the prisoner before the colonel would return.

"Tell me something, Lieutenant," Edward says. Her formal addressing of Riza's title takes her by surprise, but she listens, her focus turning as sharp as a knife. "Does the name _Alphonse_ ring any bells?"

Riza frowns. She thinks back, pondering for only a few seconds and deciding that she's never heard that name before. "I'm afraid not."

Edward searches her eyes, as if looking for any signs of truth. "Just curious." The words are simple, lost in a breath of exhaled air, but Riza knows better. She can tell that the convict isn't convinced in the slightest that Riza has no knowledge of a character named Alphonse.

 _She thinks we're all the scum of the earth._ But she can't blame the Elric girl.

Edward shifts her manacles, observing the meddlesome containers with newfound focus. "I don't think this is necessary."

"We take extra precaution with all criminals. I'm sorry if it's uncomfortable." Riza keeps her composure—she's trying to keep an emotional distance, even if she's curious as to what lies beyond those shocking pair of golden irises. "While I'm here, I suppose you could make a personal request to make your situation more appropriate. At least, before the colonel returns."

Edward doesn't look the least bit convinced, but her shoulders slightly lose the tension. That was all Riza wanted to see—some relaxation, at least, to let her know that she's not there to harm her.

Neither Riza—nor Edward, for that matter, expect the door to open, and neither of them are prepared for who, or what, steps into the room.

* * *

 **~ 000 ~**

* * *

 **CENTRAL COMMAND CENTER –** _ **East Wing**_

 **3 : 50 P.M.**

" _COLONEL! Colonel, you have to come quick!"_

Roy stops in the middle of his walk, a spare bottle of water and an extra, prepackaged sandwich clasped in his gloved hands. He whips around at the sound of the voice, and notices that an alarm has rung through the building. Left and right, various soldiers of multiple ranks burst out of their office corridors, sending papers into a frenzy. He glances to the sound of the voice, remaining calm, despite the racing of his rapidly beating heart.

"S-Sir!" Denny Brosh comes stumbling to his aide, looking far more frazzled than Roy had seen earlier. "A-An attack! An explosion in the interrogation cell!"

Roy's heart skips a beat. He thinks back to Edward, to the fact that Brosh and Ross were supposed to be _monitoring_ the door. "You left your post?" he breathes. None of them had any idea what this prisoner was capable of—doing something so stupid and so _risky_ should not have even crossed the minds of those two.

Brosh hesitates. "S-Sir, i-it all happened so fast! I came here as fast as I can! There's so much smoke, and… and I think Hawkeye was in there—"

Roy grasps his collar and pulls him close to his face, his voice coming out in a menacing snarl. " _My lieutenant_ was in there, with a criminal, without _supervision_? Are you insane?" He will be damned if something has happened to his adjutant.

"I-I'm so sorry, Sir! But, but right now the fire's still going! I think the prisoner might be gone! I just knew I needed to come get you immediately sir!"

Roy shoved him to the side, pumping his arms and dashing down the hallway as fast his legs can carry him.

* * *

 **Woot woot! That was fun to write. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! :)**

 **I'm hoping to get to at least fifteen reviews by the third chapter. Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed the first one to this story! It's been a pleasure to write, and the universe is so fun to dabble in.**

 **Thank you all again!**

 **REVIEW GOAL**

 **15**

 **UNTIL NEXT TIME YOU WONDERFUL PEOPLE!**

 **\- Sulfur Dusk**


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